


This One's Not Pretend

by flyingcrowbar



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Cute, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, these two have ruined me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcrowbar/pseuds/flyingcrowbar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien and Marinette share a dance. It's not as horribly awkward as it could have been...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One's Not Pretend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasexjackson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasexjackson/gifts).



> Excuse me while I just tumble farther and farther down the pit that is LadyNoir. Just let me lie here a moment. I'm fine. I'm fine. Find me on tumblr @flyingcrowbar. We'll all be fine together.
> 
> Title from the movie Enchanted.

__**So close to reaching**  
That famous happy end.  
Almost believing  
This one's not pretend.  
And now you're beside me,  
And look how far we've come.  
\- "So Close," Jon Mclaughlin

* * *

 

“Alya, I’m going to do it.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s happening.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t. I’m going to puke. Blow chunks. Ride the vomit comet.”

“Gross.”

“ _ Hnnnng _ , I’m going to be sick.”

“Marinette,  _ shhhh _ .” Alya rubbed her back, soothing her in vain, for what was about to happen couldn’t be fixed with a back rub. What could fix it? Nothing. Nothing at all because Marinette was expected to dance. 

And not only dance, but dance the  _ waltz _ . Could there be anything worse? Her - Marinette - the clumsy, ungraceful, oaf of a human being was supposed to be in gym class but  _ noooooo _ . Thanks to a change in the curriculum, instead of failing at volleyball, she was going to fail at box stepping. 

And in front of Adrien, no less. Perfect, poised, prepossessing example of human excellence, Adrien. She was used to making a fool of herself in gym class in his presence, so the public humiliation was to be expected. This was a different kind of humiliation. Before, they’d never done any kind of dancing. Now Adrien would get a first-hand look at how much of a mess Marinette truly was. 

She had considered running right out of the building, sprinting all the way home so she could hide under her blankets and die, but her legs weren’t working. Her knees were bouncing like they were jackhammers. 

Leaning forward, bracing her palms on her knees (to stop them from shaking and to prepare herself for the tomato bisque that was threatening to shoot from her stomach), Marinette glanced down the other line of girls, standing shoulder to shoulder on one side of the gym, facing the line of boys on the other side. Everyone waited, a brewing mixture of nerves and awkwardness, for the gym teacher to pull out a cart with a boom box into the middle of the floor. 

Marinette wished she had worn something - anything - other than the standard gym shorts and t-shirt. Camouflage would be better suited for this situation. If only Tikki could make her invisible. She cursed whatever magician bestowed her with super strength instead of crisis aversion. 

“To help show us the waltz,” the gym teacher said, “Adrien has kindly volunteered to demonstrate. We’ll need a partner for him. Perhaps a lady?”

Marinette’s stomach practically flopped onto her shoes. Adrien had stepped out into the middle of the gym floor, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he smiled at the lineup of girls. 

Of course he was a good dancer.  _ Of course _ . That athletic, agile Adonis. Fencing made him a natural-born dancer. He was made for this. 

Immediately, hands shot up, eager to volunteer now that there was an opportunity to dance with only the cutest boy in school. Everyone’s hand, except Marinette’s. 

She was too busy staring at Adrien, hardly suppressing the sigh that escaped her lips. He was wearing his favorite shirt (her favorite shirt), the one that was green, that made his eyes pop, that looked so soft she could imagine herself resting her cheek on it, and falling asleep on his chest, lulled to sleep by the beat of his -

_ Wait. What?! _

Marinette stood up, stock straight in abject horror, as she watched her missed opportunity slip right between her fingers. She could have danced with Adrien, and she was too late! It would have been a disaster if she was chosen, but maybe she would have surprised herself and been the best dancer in the world, and then Adrien would be so impressed with her talent that he’d marry her on the spot and they could run away together and be happy for the rest of their lives! 

An impossible fantasy, Marinette knew. But it was a fantasy she allowed herself to keep, delusion aside. 

“Excuse me, teacher,” Chloe called out, her voice dominating all other sounds in the gym, “seeing as I’m  _ the mayor’s daughter _ after all, I think it should be me who -”

Alya turned to Chloe and said, all too casually, “Is that spinach in your teeth?” 

Chloe’s face was struck with absolute terror. “What?!” She whipped out her compact mirror and turned away to inspect her dumb, perfect teeth.

There was a pinch in Marinette’s butt and she leapt forward with a startled “Eep!” Looking back, she saw the offender - Alya - waving with a delightfully devilish smile. Marinette was going to  _ kill _ her. 

“Excellent, Marinette,” the teacher said. “Thank you for volunteering.” 

Her stomach punched its way into her throat. “N-No, monsieur, I -”

“Come, come, we haven’t got all day.” 

Her classmates giggled and murmured as she remained, unmoving, where she stood. All eyes were on her, even Adrien’s. While everyone else was judging her, laughing at her, Adrien was different. He just smiled.

Marinette didn’t remember walking to him, or even moving. For all she knew, she simply floated his way, because the next second, she was right in front of him. Heat had bloomed in her cheeks, making her look like she had the worst sunburn in the history of the universe. She sidled up next to Adrien, clasping her hands in front of her (how - hands - work - normal?), and kept a respectful distance between their shoulders. Perhaps if she made herself look as small as possible, everyone could forget that she existed?

The teacher was going on and on about something or other, it all sounded like Marinette’s head was submerged underwater. She firmly kept staring at the floor, at her awkward, pigeon-toed feet, trying her best to keep her heart under control. Without being too obvious, she kept sneaking glances of Adrien out of the corner of her eye. How he was standing so straight, how his shoulders rose and fell with every breath, how bright his eyes -  _ HE’S LOOKING THIS WAY. _

Marinette yanked her gaze back down to the floor, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed her staring. If he did, he didn’t say. He just turned to her. The music was starting.

Lunch swirled in her gut. She wondered, in an out-of-body sort of way, if the color of her puke would compliment the color of Adrien’s shirt. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to find out. 

On second thought… Adrien was holding out his hand for her to take. She was done for. 

But she took it anyway and turned to face him. Her palm was wet. No, not wet. It was pouring - absolutely melting - with sweat. And Adrien  _ must _ have noticed. It probably took every fiber of his being not to cringe. The fact made Marinette flush more furiously and sweat more profusely.

He smelled like… like summer. Every time he moved, she was reminded of grass after a rainstorm, sweet in an earthy sort of way. Her head swam.

She still wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted to die. Her legs were made of cardboard, her spine of jelly. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall onto him. And then, truly, she’d have an excuse to excuse herself forever.

“It’s going to be okay,” Adrien whispered, his voice an anchor in a hurricane. It drew her eyes upward, to meet his, and he was still smiling. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by Marinette’s bodily fluids. Her heart did a pirouette. “Follow my lead.”

For fear that she would spew, she didn’t open her mouth to reply. She was acutely aware of his hand, wrapped firmly but not roughly, under and up her shoulder blade. Her lungs stopped working and she forgot that she even had a body. Her left arm reached outward, wrist limp like it was on strings. She didn’t know what to do with it, where to put it. 

“Marinette's a marionette,” someone joked. Adrien ignored it, Marinette didn't hear it. She was too focused on his touch. The skin holding onto Adrien’s hand was already burning. She could only imagine she’d burst into flames if she were to touch him anywhere else. 

Kindly, Adrien pulled her arm down so it rested on his shoulder. The class laughed. Adrien shot them a look and they stopped immediately. Marinette was too busy feeling like she was rolling down a hill to notice. She couldn’t stop staring at his sneakers. They were going to look all scuffed up when she would inevitably step on his toes. 

“One, two, three,” Adrien murmured, his breath warm on her cheek. He was dipping her hand ever so slightly, getting her used to the rhythm of the song. “One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two -” And they were off. He stepped toward her, she instinctively stepped back, too far, and stumbled, but he held on tight and laughed. But he wasn’t laughing at her, not like the others. It was kinder, more understanding. Her cheeks lifted when she started smiling too. 

She was terrible, awful, worse than horrible at the waltz. But she was getting used to it, while occasionally stepping on Adrien one or two (million) times. Eventually, she mustered enough courage to look at his face. The rest of the world dissolved. 

Suddenly there was no one else in the room, the lights had grown dark. She was in a ballgown; he was in tails. The imaginary dress swished around her ankles, billowing out with each turn. They were spinning, spinning. Her head was light but full, whirring with joy. How lucky she was, dancing with  _ him _ , only with  _ him _ . He looked so handsome. No, really. She said that a lot, but he was… special. There was something she couldn’t quite place. It was in his chin, in his hands, in his eyes. There was a curling beauty to him, sleek and unending. Infinity was his maker. She was lost in his arms. They were strong around her, absolute, steady. He pulled her closer. Their eyes met, locked in a dream. 

_ Yes _ , Marinette thought.  _ This is right. _

He looked so different. Not in that he looked like a fantastical, Marinette-ified version of himself, but that he looked  _ happy _ . Happier than ever. It puzzled her. She hadn’t realized how unhappy he looked during the every day. Maybe not unhappy, but reserved, aloof even. He didn’t look like himself. He looked like someone familiar. It was all in the eyes. Yes, there, in the creases of his eyes when he smiled. He should smile like that more often. It was very becoming of him, a prince in disguise. A fairy tale come to life. 

Those kinds of stories were supposed to end with a kiss. But this wasn’t that story.   

And then her fantasy ended. The song was over and they had stopped dancing. She was back to being Marinette, klutz extraordinaire. But she kept staring at him, dumbstruck by her fantasy come to life. Adrien, still holding onto her, bashfully worried his lip and cleared his throat.  

As if she’d been electrified, she leapt back and ripped herself away from him. How utterly  _ embarrassing _ . Adrien, ever the gentleman, gave her a bow. Marinette barely managed a curtsey before staggering back over to Alya. Her knees had locked. The class clapped politely as Adrien went back to his side of the gym.

Chloe was standing in a huff, her arms folded over her chest, as she glowered in Marinette’s direction. But Marinette didn’t care. Her heart was in the clouds. She sighed, wistfully, and gazed longingly to the boys’ side. Adrien and Nino fist-bumped.

His attention drifted back to where she was and Marinette grinned sheepishly. He gave her a second, flourishing bow and winked. She giggled. He was smiling, just as he had been in her dream. It made her heart skip. 

That smile was the one thing that had been real.


End file.
